Monday nights are mine (after bedtime), Wednesday nights are the church's, Friday nights are family fun. But Tuesday night has become our favorite. It's the night Brian picks out music for the following week's services, so the hour after dinner is spent around his guitar. I wrote this a few Tuesday nights ago (inspired by Ann's style of blogging, it would seem) and am offering to you today. Enjoy your weekend.
Cornsilk and tortillas scraped aside, plates stacked, applesauce drying on bellies and noses, and we stayed around the table a little longer tonight, while Brian brought out his guitar.
Praise to the Lord, the Almighty, the King of creation
O my soul, praise Him, for He is thy health and salvation
I remember coloring in an empty sanctuary, sitting up straight to see above the pew, listening to my mother's music fill the silence as she rehearsed for Sunday's service.
And how she too grew up in sanctuaries and under tents, listening to my grandmother's harmonies against my grandfather's melody, as they traveled around the state, performing and leading gospel music.
And I wonder what my grandmother may have thought about when she was a child, watching her father standing in the front of an aged wooden sanctuary, leading choirs and youth camps in shaped note singings.
All of those generations of musicians, leaders, worshippers.
Every generation, every child, absorbs the music of his father.
And is captivated by it.
Like their curls, the music is in their blood. Worship is their inheritance. It is the best that is in me, the most that I have to share. It flows through us, one generation to the next, not ours to dictate or control, but to live and feel and lift up to the God who loves us all.
Thanks be to God.